Life's a Staged Production
by Noodle In a Can
Summary: “…if that is the case, then why is everyday experiences like a scene from a play. The same tired plotlines, the same type of extras moving in the background of a crowded street. All men and women are merely players; they all have their exits..."


**Disclaimer: **If I owned it, would I be writing a fanfic? I don't think so. Common sense tells you that if you sue me, you'll be a heavy debt to court and lawyer fees.

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It was far better for this to happen than to not learn at all? That was his only thought as his lungs started to heave for air that would never come. His heart was becoming slower in its beats with each passing pant for air. His eyes would not open; he was too weak to care. Kuja had spent everything to see to it to get Zidane out of the line of fire of the tree roots. The armor across his chest was heavier than normal as he struggled to breathe, for that little bit of air as Hell became his home. Around him the Ilfa Tree was having its way, the system of roots were bending and twisting around the dieing genome. The questioned remained as to when it would happen.

Kuja was not sure, but his stomach was being pressed against, the little air he could slip into his system was soon depleted. He could not cry out, he could not even see what was going on, his vision was black. Death was knocking at his door. The once great sorcerer was reduced to a mere doll.

The thought started to fade and so did his mind to the dim memories of the souls he had captured, even those voices that he had grown accustomed to, were fading out. Slipping away like his very soul. It needed to leave the vessel of the Angel of Death behind. If he had known he was going to parish, it would have been different. As of now, it was not a thing he could do as his hips were being squeezed tightly. Though, it did not snap him in half, only cradled. Necron had sworn to destroy and yet, he was cradled in an odd resting place for his final minutes of life.

The genome laid there for what seemed like an eternity, feeling his sense of touch leave him behind, yet he felt cold. It was strange to die so slowly. It was painless, but it was dragging along. He tried to move his finger, to no avail, he was stuck hearing the groans and creaks of a tree. His brain finally shut down, even though he was still breathing. Kuja fell comatose within the bowels of the old, dead mechanism sent upon Gaia for a deed of assimilation of a destroyed planet. He did not hear the gasp of his younger brother, he did not feel the arms lifting up his light form, and he, certainly, did not hear Zidane say he'll keep him aloft.

What he did know was that he woke up in a very lumpy bed three months later, unable to move. His eyes opened with a glaze upon them, his vision was hazed and blurred as he tried to focus and could not. It was horrid, he was in the most beautiful of dreams with his freedom to run nude and be the star of a play. Never to worry over a master who would rather use a needle on his skin than actually be an example. A soft, audible whimper escaped his lips. He couldn't move, he could barely look about. Was he in that tiny room back in Bran Bahl that he called his? Was the experiment of his tenth birthday still taking its effect? His mind was clouded with the prospects of only living in his mind after such an abusive master strapped him down and drilled into his head to measure dreams of a soul, or to try to.

He remembered the battles of Gaea, he remembered his little brother and the havoc that was his fault, but for now, his memories were revealing the sad truth of one thing, he had a fear of being immobile for too long. And he could not fully move his jaw just yet; to be silenced was certain death and certain ways of pain.

His mind was swimming with the problems he was inflicted upon, and soon his ears picked up a set of heavy boots. No, it couldn't be Garland's; they moved too rapidly for that, could it be the genomes were sent to retrieve him for another test? Was it heartbeats this time? He whimpered again, unable to do much else. The footsteps stopped nearby.

"K-Kuja?" Who was that? Was it really…? His mind snapped into action, not the recollection of his childhood.

"…Z…Zidane?" Oh, yes weakly toned. It was enough to make his pride sink lower in his chest, opening his eyes wider, he could see fully. Where was he? His eyes tried to focus and failed. His mind screamed for his body to move, but, alas, it stayed in the same position. "…where is this? I am not…dead, yes?" His eyes started to sink closed, why was he tired upon first awakening?

"Yeah, you're alive." A few more steps and he felt a brush over his cheek, then a palm press over his forehead. His eyes slid open to look up at Zidane with the softest of looks.

"…why?" Zidane paused at the question; he saw the frown appear, vaguely on the lips of the blonde. There was no suitable answer for him. Kuja somehow knew that.

"I saved you."

"You never answered why." It stopped all conversation as his 'sibling' pressed a potion to his lips. The sorcerer could barely open his jaw, but he could not say no to the metallic taste of the liquid. Could it have been he did it out of duty? The sorcerer laid there for awhile, eyes closing. It was hardly plausible to save someone of such heinous crimes, such as his. It was not even remotely rational to hold him in a bed and feed him a potion. Zidane left the room again, leaving the silver haired genome to his thoughts.

With a slight vat of strength, Kuja sat up. It was hard, it was tiring, and it, certainly, had a fair share of groans attached to it. His 'sibling' did not enter again. Blinking those indigo blue eyes, he looked around the small room. His neck and body felt so stiff and weak. Was this the price he paid for such an act of defiance? Perhaps it was.

Upon realizing that thought, he saw a window with just a bit of canvas over it. Lumbering to his feet, stumbling as he tried to walk and stand, the weakened sorcerer found his way to the window to pull the canvas back. He looked out at the ruins of a city, Mandain Sari. Frowning, he leaned in the window sill. Kuja barely took notice that he was in just a tunic and light fabric for nightwear, or that his tail was in full view. His mind was trying to wrap around the idea of living.

That was when he heard footsteps again, the same stride, and the same sound. It did not alarm him as it did the first time. He heard the door open and a gasp fall from the younger man's lips.

"Why are you up? C'mon you gotta get back in bed."

"Pity. You ask questions and expect me to answer, yet I ask one of one word and you never speak a word and elude it." His voice was softer and exhausted from the simplest of tasks. Zidane just stood, looking at his feet and sighing.

"I don't know, so that's the answer." It did not suffice, it would not suffice. Slowly, the once horrifying and most power mage in all of Gaea made his way back to the harsh and uncomfortable bed. He was nothing but a dreadful ghost of his former self. Crippled by that thought, Kuja did not turn his back on Zidane and laid on his side, he faced the second Angel of Death. His eyes were buried under marked eyelids that were painted before his reckoning and consciousness. He saw the younger genome frown look up at him.

"Maybe it's because you deserve a second chance. Everyone does."

"And all I know is destruction; I live for such a feat, Zidane. I was kept and taught how to and so much more. And yet you save the antagonist hoping he will change. Is this a character flaw?"

Sighing once more the blonde went over to Kuja and kissed his forehead. "I'm not the tragic hero sort, Kuja. I'm not a play character. This is life, not some run-of-the-mill stage." The though seized the older being in a state of thought, was it the truth? Not likely considering his whole life was one comedy of errors. His very birth was a defective mistake.

"Wrong." Zidane blinked, shock on his face as the only brother he would ever know laughed so soft. "…if that is the case, then why is everyday experiences like a scene from a play. The same tired plotlines, the same type of extras moving in the background of a crowded street. All men and women are merely players; they all have their exits and their entrances. The world needs a stage, and life is the most ironic of all its plays. Each one ending in a morbid twist, yet some skew and twist to something more or less."

Those words were hardly what the blonde wanted to hear, Kuja knew that. He saw those blue eyes gain a tinge of sadness wafting through them like an ocean wave. Analysis concluded that he had struck a nerve. It was the truth of how the older being saw things, twisted and quite literally, morbid and beautiful. Days shut away to solitude with novels and plays had taught him well from his childhood. Never making a sound or noise as Garland kept the dreadful drones busy and occupied, the tiny genome that was destined to destroy would sit and read and come when called. It was a horrid flashback of calling the old wretch 'master.'

Blinking away the memories, he kept staring up at Zidane's face. He looked like his dear canary, his precious gem; his lovely girlfriend just rejected him. He did not lie for once and say something false, it was his view. His 'brother' had to know the truth of his thoughts, since the younger genome plucked him from death.

"What would change that?" Such an idiotic question, why would he ask such things?

"I won't."

"I'll give you some time, Kuja…I mean you're alive and free." That jarred him, and that made his mind almost shut down. Free? If he were free would he ever forget what a cruel place he came from? Should that not happen at all? The sorcerer closed his eyes and shook his head, as slight as it was.

"Please enlighten me on how this is freedom." His voice was always only above a whisper, growing ill at ease and much worn from the exertion. Zidane smiled soft and sat on the foot of the bed.

"You don't have to whimper for nights on end about needles." He had heard that! Such an outrageous and crushing truth was this. "…and not being shut away. Yeah, it's hard not to hear when you are half-awake and tossing." Kuja did not look at him; his tail had slid between his legs at the mentioning of it. The younger sibling took heed and looked at him and something amazing happened. He saw Zidane rise to his feet and lean over and wrap arms around him in a hug.

Blinking, it took the sorcerer several seconds to realize what was going on and soon the slim arms wrapping around the other in the brief exchange. It felt oddly wonderful. It was a strange occurrence and fantastic in the same right.

"I'll help, promise."

"Will you? I am not sure what sort of help I do need, but…"

"Trust me Ku, you need a lot."

He did not understand as his sibling smiled and pulled away from the embraced marked with a bond of family. Though, now, it seemed as though he could at least go onto the second act of the play known as his life.

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**Author's Final Thoughts:** The thought that life is a stage is something that Shakespeare is quoted as writing. Fascinating as it is.

I could imagine this happening, so I wrote it. I don't know if I will add to this or not.


End file.
